CHAPTER6
God, you have to fix this. I have no idea what to do.
Aaron turned away from the woman he’d just helped to her blankets and scrubbed his hands through his hair as he stared at the wagon. What should he do first? Unhitch the team and get them settled so he could focus on Mrs. Barlow? She might need her belongings first. And food. And water.
He had a feeling this was her time, though there was still a chance she was simply ill. She'd not answered his questions about what bothered her.
He pulled everything he could think of she might need from the wagon and laid it near enough she could reach the bags and crates. Then he bent down near her head. "What can I do to help you?"
She lay still with her eyes closed, curled on her side. She didn't open them as she spoke. "Nothing right now."
"I need to unhitch the mules. Would you rather I stay close for a while?"
Her eyes, when she opened them, held a glassy look. "I can handle it myself for a while. But when the baby comes, I'll need your help."
It must be her time. He swallowed, then took in a long deep breath and eased it out. "I'll do whatever you ask. Let me get Cain and Abel settled, then I'll be with you as long as you need me."
As he unfastened the straps connecting the team to the wagon, his mind swirled around what he might have to do. In truth, he had no notion what he might be needed for. He’d never been around for a birthing, had barely even known a woman’s company growing up. Not after his parents died when he and Nate were eight.
After those awful weeks the two of them survived on their own, they'd lived a year with Aunt Bertie and Uncle Ronald. But then they'd been passed to Paul and spent the next four years helping to build up his farm. Those were the years he remembered most, and there hadn't been a female in sight. When Paul finally married, they'd all come west to the Montana territory. Unfortunately, smallpox had claimed Paul and his new bride, leaving Aaron and Nate once again alone.
So no, he knew nothing about the birthing process, not even in dogs or horses. But she'd spoken those words—I'll need your help—and they'd clutched somewhere deep in his soul. His twin brother was the only one who'd ever needed Aaron, but Nate had Laura now.
After their wedding, Aaron hadn't expected to be needed ever again.
When he returned to Mrs. Barlow, she had her chin tucked into her chest, her breathing slow and labored.
"How can I help you?"
She didn't answer, just kept those slow, hard inhales and releases. At last, the tightness in her seemed to ease. She opened her eyes and turned a weary expression to him. "We’ll need blankets. And hot water. A fire.”
Those he could do. After he’d gathered enough kindling and wood to light a blaze, he settled himself to accomplish the task. Mrs. Barlow lay on her blanket, staring in his direction with that glassy gaze. Maybe this would be a good time to ask questions.
Best to start with the most important. “Do you, um, know how the birthing should go?”
Her gaze sharpened on him. “I have a book in my carpet bag.The Tennessee Housewifery. There’s a chapter on what to expect in childbirth.”
That was a start at least. He could pull out the manual and see if it offered anything helpful. “Have you seen a birthing?”
“Not me, but our housekeeper, Sarah, helped a midwife sometimes. She told me what she did when things didn’t go well.”
He eyed her. “Sarah. She’s the one who taught you how to make the salve?”
She nodded, and her expression softened a little.
“She sounds like a special lady. Talented.” And important to this woman.
With a groan, she gripped the edge of the blanket and curled in. “Here’s another.”
She twisted that flimsy fabric as her face went pale and the tendons on her neck stood out. He knew pain like that, but to watch her endure it…his insides squeezed. That blanket wouldn’t help her fight against the agony. She needed something sturdier.
He pulled a thin branch from the stack and moved over to her side. "Grip this. It'll help."
Her hands snatched the stick, nearly jerking it from him as a guttural groan tore from her. Tears leaked from her eyes, running over the bridge of her nose to disappear into the shadows.
His own body ached, pressing in his chest and crawling through every part of him. She was enduring this pain so quietly, far different from what he'd done back in the worst of his dark days.
Finally, the whiteness of her fingers faded to normal color, and her face began to relax. Her breathing lost its coarse straining but stayed deep, as though the air could finally find its way inside and her body craved more.
